If Your Answer Wasn't Yes
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: Late night ponderings never help the situation


Title: If Your Answer Wasn't Yes

Rating: PG, mainly for a couple of lite "cuss" words.

Spoilers: If you haven't watched any/all of season 9, you might get just a touch lost.

Archive: That would be a big 10-4, good buddy.

Feedback: Must I beg? I will, don't get me wrong...

Disclaimer: That would not be a big 10-4, good buddy.

Author's Notes: At the rear.

* * *

I feel like there's this hole in my heart that's never going to heal. I don't think I've ever known a pain like this before in my life. All I want to do is curl up into a ball and die.

It shouldn't be like this. It never should've gotten to this point–the point of no return.

Because, I think at this point, there is no way we can ever go back to being what we were. Not that moving backward is the greatest thing to do in a relationship, but...

God, I miss him. He left for Africa without even saying goodbye. Hell, he left without really even telling me he was going. I'm not sure which one hurts worse.

How did things get this bad between us? How could I have let it go this far? And I just want to know what happened to us. We were so in love. I'm still so in love. So much in love that it's like a physical ache. But we drifted apart. And neither one of us bothered with trying to steer our way back to one another.

I know I screwed up. I realize that. But I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I didn't want to have to choose between Carter and Eric. I wanted so badly to be there for John when he needed me the most. God knows he's been there for me whenever I needed him. He deserves at least that much from me. But...it was my brother. I wouldn't have expected him to choose me over his grandmother. A selfish part of me would've hoped for it, but I wouldn't have expected it.

Of course, Eric's performance at the funeral didn't really help much. I can understand why John is angry about that. I'm angry about it, too.

But does that give him the right to shut me out completely? I mean, Africa. Without saying a word to me. It was bad enough when he was just toying around with the idea and didn't mention it me, but to actually go. Just like that.

I just want him back. There's a part of me that's furious at him for just walking out like that, for walking out on us, for running half-way around the world to get away from me. But there's a bigger, stronger part of me that really doesn't give a damn–that part just wants him back. John Carter is, without a doubt, my other half. He is part of me. And without him, I just can't function.

I suppose I'm putting up a fairly decent act at work. People haven't been constantly asking if I'm all right or if I need some time off or whatever. I just smile and do my job. Susan's the only one who knows how much this is getting to me. She's sat with me on more than one night while I've either ranted and raved, or cried my eyes out. The latter has happened more frequently.

I am thankful that I have Susan. I don't think I'd be able to cope at all if I didn't have her to talk to. And, God bless her, she just sits there and listens. It's got to be getting old. But she hasn't complained–she's just let me vent. And cry on her shoulder.

I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to take this. This hurts too much. I can't live like this. But it's a double-edged sword. I can't live like this, but I can't live without him. Oh, I suppose I could live without him, I just don't know how great my life would be without him.

He's been gone for almost two weeks, and it feels like an eternity. I don't know when he's coming back, if he's coming back at all. All I want right now is to hold him in my arms and never let go. But there's also a part of me that wants to push him away and hurt him as much as he's hurting me. I may not be the perfect girlfriend, but even I think I deserve better than this.

But John deserves better than what I've been giving him lately. Imperfect or not, I still haven't been a very good girlfriend as of late. I've tried to tell him that, though. I tried to get him out, get him away from me, and he always ignored me. So part of me is saying that he set himself up for this. In staying with me (or anyone, for that matter), he knew drifting apart could happen, that we had the ability to hurt each other beyond measure, and he didn't leave. Until now.

I think that may have been the biggest slap in the face. Him just leaving like that. Going to Africa instead of staying here and at least talking to me. He didn't have to stay with me, but he could have at least talked to me.

And when did we get to the point where we couldn't talk? Our entire relationship was based on talking for the longest time. All we did was talk to each other about anything and everything. Even when we first became a couple, an us, we talked. Somehow, somewhere, we lost that. It's one of the things I miss the most–my best friend. It's not as if you have to give up your best friend for him to be your boyfriend. It usually just adds to the relationship. Now I feel like I've lost them both.

At that, I let out a sob and roll over in bed. Not a great idea, considering I'm now facing the empty space where Carter should be sleeping. I try to take a deep breath and calm myself, and it works to some degree.

I don't know why I bother with going to bed. It's not as if I sleep much. And the sleep I have gotten has been so restless and light that it's relatively ineffective. I can sleep without him, so it's not really that that's keeping me awake. It's more of what the empty side of the bed symbolizes, and it makes the ache in my heart that much worse.

Sadly, desperately, I cling to his pillow, even though it no longer smells like him. It's for comfort, really. Though not a hell of a lot can comfort me at the moment. All I want is to hold his pillow and pretend that it's him and that we managed to work through this and all is right in the world.

It doesn't work.

Wearing one of his shirts isn't helping either. It makes me feel closer to him, but, at the same time, makes me feel worlds apart. And not only is wearing his shirt and holding his pillow unbelievably pathetic, it's also unbearably cliche. Part of me can't believe I've brought myself down to this level, but another part of me doesn't care. All I want is to be near him. As much as I'm telling myself I hate him and as angry as I am, it all boils down to one simple fact: I love him. More than anything. More than I've ever loved anyone before in my life.

I'm such a contradiction right now. I'm even starting to piss myself off. I need to figure out exactly what it is I want from Carter, and then work on getting it.

The answer really is quite simple. I just want to be his. That's all I'm asking for. His girlfriend, his wife, I don't care as long as I am in some way connected to him. If things had worked out differently for us, I could be his fiancee right now. We could be planning some big, elaborate wedding that would be the talk of Chicago. Susan and I would be picking out my wedding dress and her maid of honor dress. We could be picking out China patterns, for the love of God. Is that asking so much?

I almost manage to make myself laugh with my train of thought. I'm getting worked up because I didn't get to pick out China patterns with the man.

But it is kind of upsetting. A part of me–a large part of me, to tell the truth–was expecting to be his wife. I didn't necessarily expect to be his wife by now, but I figured it'd happen at some point. I'd really gotten excited about becoming Abby Carter. I really want to be Abby Carter.

I let out a frustrated sigh and kick the blankets away from me. Sleep isn't going to come any time soon. I crawl out of bed and drag myself into the living room, unsure of what to do now. I briefly consider the TV, but reject that idea almost immediately. Infomercials won't lull me to sleep–they'll just serve to piss me off further.

I plop onto the couch anyway and turn on the lamp that's on the end table. I look around my apartment, hoping for some sort of inspiration.

Nothing inspires me.

I think about cleaning, but I've actually done a lot of that in the past couple of weeks. There's not much left to clean.

I can't do anymore reorganizing–I've reorganized all the cabinets and drawers in just about every way possible. Alphabetical, by size, by height, by brand name.

I stand up and go over to my bookshelf, hoping to find some old favorite of mine that'll be of some comfort. Nothing jumps out at me. I look on the lower shelves, hoping to find some old treasure that'll occupy my mind. Nope. But my photo albums are there.

I bite my lip for a moment, considering it. Then I sigh and pull out the last album on the shelf. I relocate to the couch and finger the cover of the album, knowing what I'm getting myself into, that I'm a glutton for punishment. But I can't fight it.

This is our album. It's pictures of us. Mostly from the past year, but there are a few various pictures of us before that.

I flip open the cover and am greeted by the sight of Carter in his tux and me in that God awful pink bridesmaid's dress. We look so happy, and we weren't even dating at the time. Some photographer had snagged us on our way into the museum, mainly because he's John Truman Carter, the third, and inquiring minds wanted to know who he was bringing to a charity event. It's the only picture on the page, but it's a fitting beginning.

There's a couple more pictures from that night, mainly of us dancing. Then there's only a few more from that general time frame; the time before I knew that he wanted me. Mainly just a couple of random pictures of us at the hospital. Someone with a few extra pictures to waste before they got their film developed, so Carter would grab me and force me into a picture with him. A few more from the following year–my post-Luka days–similar to the ones before. The really interesting pictures didn't start until after We began.

There are a whole bunch of us from our first few weeks together, mainly from the week we had off after the lockdown. Just goofy shots of one of us holding the camera out while we scrunched our faces together so we could both fit in the frame. Some of either him or me caught unaware by the other one taking a picture. Carter enjoyed taking pictures of me as I walked into a room because no matter how many times he did it, I never remembered to expect it.

There were also a few pictures of us exploring Chicago, standing various places and asking someone to take a picture of us like we were a couple of tourists. We were so gone over each other at that point.

The pictures became less frequent after the first couple of months or so, but they were still there. Mainly just the two of us goofing around, sometimes with Susan present because she liked to mock us in our joy and bliss. But there were a few quote/unquote serious shots here and there. Like when we would forget that Susan had the camera and then proceed to kiss. She seemed to enjoy taking pictures of us like that. And neither Carter nor I had realized she'd taken pictures like that until months later, when she coughed them up as she was leaving the hospital and we were entering. They're nice pictures.

There's a few of the two of us with Eric and Jodi, all goofing around and having fun at Navy Pier. Next to those is a couple of strips of pictures of John and I from one of those photo booths we found at Navy Pier. Again, mostly goofy, but a couple of really nice ones that I'm quite proud of.

I have a bunch of pictures of us from Susan's Christmas party. There was at least one camera for every two people that night, I do believe. They're mostly just pictures of us sitting around, but I spot three of my favorites. It's a tie between a picture of us, among others, attempting to do the Electric Slide, one of us sitting together on a chair, me in his lap, oblivious to the world around us, or the one of us kissing under the mistletoe. They're all great pictures.

There's only a couple of us from the night of the most recent charity event we attended. One of them was professionally done by some photographer his grandmother had hired, both of us looking quite sophisticated. There aren't many pictures after that night. Just a few spread out over the course of a month or so.

I flip to the last page and realize that I'm crying. Weeping like a baby, actually. And I'm not sure if it's from seeing all the pictures like that, or simply from the only picture on the last page. We'd figured out how to set the timer on the camera, and had decided we were going to do another kiss shot, but I guess the timer was set for longer than we'd anticipated and we hadn't realized it. Because the picture is of us just after we'd kissed. One of my hands is resting on the back of his neck, the other wrapped underneath his arm so that my hand reached his shoulder; his hands trying to cup my neck and cheeks all at the same time. But what gets to me most is the look on our faces. Open adoration and love. So very much love.

I close the book and manage to put it on the coffee table before I curl into a ball and let my sobs overcome me. I can't figure out why I let myself look at that album. Am I completely stupid? Apparently. But a part of me wanted to see us, together and happy and in love. I want that back. More than anything.

I guess it doesn't matter how frustrated and angry I am at the moment. The bottom line is I love him. That's all there is to it.

The question is, does he still love me?

And it scares the hell out of me that I don't know the answer.

* * *

Author's notes: I've taken a long absence from writing. Mainly because I haven't had the time, but also because...that's just how I work, I guess. I don't think there's anyone out there who depends on my fics to keep them going, but if there is, god love ya. I've been feeling the slight twinges of wanting to write again, but had no ideas of what to do. I just happened to be listening to this lovely little song tonight called "So Complicated" by Carolyn Dawn Johnson, and I felt inspired. I didn't know where the story was going to take me, but I feel a hell of a lot better now that I've gotten it out of my system. It may now be 5:30 in the morning, and I'll probably sleep all day as a result of this, but it was worth it. Anyway, holla back.


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